Where You Are
by Laryna6
Summary: Trish isn't Eva, but what if she was? SXE SpardaxEva with a twist, hints of DantexAlastor. Legends never die.


Disclaimer: Don't own Devil May Cry or Viewtiful Joe.

In the Viewtiful Joe game, Alastor from DMC1 can take human form. I'm relying on untranslated doujinshi for his characterization, although this is set after that game and it was a comedy game, so I'm making him a little more mature, I hope it's not ooc. If anyone has played the game and can give me a character description, I would be much obliged.

In DMC2, Trish is an unlockable like Sparda in the first game. She has Luce (Lux, here, Luce is the equivalent of Nelo Angelo, incorrect spelling), Umbra, the Sparda and the Ifrit.

Most people write that Trish is not Eva, and I'd agree she probably isn't. This is a what-if, because I am very much a SXE (Sparda/Eva) fan, and would like them to go on.

My first big thing in quite a while. I'm going to try to write more often. Sorry everyone who's been waiting on me.

- - - - - -

It was the first thing she'd seen in this new life. Perhaps that was why. The last part of her old life she remembered was Dante holding her and saying something… her hearing was fading in and out as Mundus's Spears slowly finished her off but she'd heard melodrama as something hard was hidden in her hair.

Then… she'd lost all contact with the outside, trapped in pain for hours, spiraling slowly down into death.

And then she awoke. And there was The Axe of Blood-Dark Death. Well, it was currently in the compact form she'd seen Dante with earlier, so it looked like a sword, but the information Mundus had placed in her when he designed her said that it was supposed to be unfolded and used as a battleaxe.

Many lesser demons wielded weapons that were part of them, and died when they died. Other demons could transform into weapons, swear obedience in exchange for the staying of the final blow. But for a devil to create a Deathstrike, as they were called, took utmost skill. For unlike humans, whose 'souls' continued after they died, passing into the Underworld to be drained of their precious Suffering and released to be reborn, a demon or devil who died was simply gone. _Something_ left, but its fate was unknown.

The only way they could achieve immortality was through their names being remembered, as Mundus had wished to conquer the human world and ensure an endless supply of Suffering to ensure his name would go down in history… or creating a weapon that would carry their memories and skills, and perhaps, some believed, if it was done right, the soul of its creator, in eternal slumber. Ifrit had crafted the Hellfire Gauntlets, Alastor the Sword of Vengeance, and Dante had been able to use them to unlock the secret techniques of the fabled warriors.

But according to legend, none had created as perfect an avatar as Sparda, an avatar capable of a near-complete sealing of the ways between the worlds. Only if a human was foolish enough to open a portal could demons enter, as Mundus had managed to convince a cult that had gotten things too right to do.

An avatar that had continued to maintain the seal after his death. An avatar that had killed every devil that dared think they could master it, as all Deathstrikes did… yet failed to harm a human, even a warped one. An avatar, some whispered, that had achieved the impossible, as Sparda had in defeating an entire army. An avatar with a _mind_.

But all of this, all the reasons she shouldn't have dared in a million eons to do the first thing she did in her new life, her free life, occurred to her only after she'd gently grasped the sword, stuck point-down in the ground, and used it to pull herself up.

She'd survived Mundus' attack. Perhaps she'd been in shock. Perhaps she'd thought she was immortal. But she'd felt perfectly lucid. Standing there, leaning on something that should have killed her the moment she touched it, as someone trying to claim its power, as a servant of Mundus, as a warped mockery of the one its creator had loved, seemed like the most natural thing in the worlds.

Not that she had any basis for judgment. Standing there, taking deep breaths and trying to process what had just happened, her eyes fell on a cracked, round grey stone, and her demonic senses registered the smell of sulfur. A yellow orb, used up.

A yellow orb! A Resurrection Soul! Why in hell had Dante wasted one on her! It had to be what he'd slipped into her hair earlier, but wasting something that valuable on someone who had been used to lure him into a trap, destroyed his motorcycle, attacked him twice… just before battling Mundus for the fate of the world! She was going to kill him.

And what was he thinking, leaving the best weapon he had with her! Was he trying to get himself killed!

… his best weapon!

That's when it hit her. Yet she couldn't bring herself to move. If anything, the prospect of immanent death made her cling to it tighter, as if it were a source of protection instead of Instant Death.

Alright. Think. If it hadn't killed her yet, it… might still decide to kill her at any time, but she'd already died once, and Sparda didn't go for torture. How bad could it be?

Dante. She had to find Dante. She had to make sure he was alright. Okay. Time to stop hyperventilating. Slow, even breaths. Find Dante. Give him the sword and the amulet back; kick his ass for being stupid… HE LEFT THE AMULET?

Okay. Quit banging head against pommel. Even though it feels so good. Step two: pick up amulet.

That involves taking a hand off the sword. Why was that such a repugnant concept?

Dante's probably in trouble, the little idiot.

Okay. She was now… running very fast. The sword was slung over her back yet wasn't getting in the way, and her amulet was bouncing on her chest…

Wait a minute! Dante's mother's amulet! He was angry enough she looked like his mom, she couldn't take her stuff!

Remove amulet.

… where was she running to anyway? She didn't know where he was: her senses weren't strong enough to detect him, what with his shielding and all the static… There!

She dropped everything as once again she acted on autopilot. Really, for her new, supposedly free, life (assuming she kept it) she was making fewer decisions than under Mundus.

Shove off, bastard!

Muahahaha.

And now she was… hugging Dante! No! Bad! Not following that bastard's orders! Not seducing him! Eeew, eeew, eeeeeew!

But it wasn't that kind of hug. It felt… familiar. The only jarring thing was they had to move their hands, because they were positioned wrong. Why had she expected him to be smaller than her? She was tall for a human female, but he wasn't ¾ her size!

And then everything that had happened hit her.

She hadn't really recovered until she saw the island exploding behind them as it was swallowed. The sky was… she liked that color. Dante was so serious…

But he would be okay, and the world too. After all, he was a legendary dark knight, just like his father. With a new sidekick to kick him in the side when warranted. She just _knew _that was going to be quite, quite often.

It should have been awkward, living with him, but it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to move into a guest room, previously used to house people who needed someplace to stay until Dante could give them the all-clear to return to their homes. Dante didn't want anyone to get hurt in the monthly attacks on his office, so he'd bought the warehouses on either side. What with workshops and gym and storage, the space had got filled up pretty quickly.

Cerberus was a good doggie, unless you were a burglar, Ebony and Ivory were quite nice girls when they weren't being pointed at her, Nevan was fun to shop with, even though she could never convince her to wear anything decently revealing, the boys were unusually intelligent for men…

Dante insisted on changing the name to Devil Never Cry because of a vision he'd seen after walking through a mirror, but changed it back after a couple months.

The Ifrit was easy to master: she channeled lightening, fire wasn't a problem. And Lux and Umbra had bowed and flown to her hands when Dante asked them if they would help her fight. He had smiled then, as though something had been confirmed.

And so, things settled into a pretty comfortable routine, punctuated by the occasional shouting and shooting match between Dante and the newly awakened Alastor on the topic of being used to charge cell phones.

Dante had told her to always have a weapon handy. He could ward his home and office, but didn't: he preferred to have demon assassins attack him on his home turf instead of in the middle of a crowd of humans. So when they slept in the mornings, after coming back from that night's mission, they both always took weapons and put them under their pillows.

At first, it was Ebony and Ivory, but one morning they begged out: they wanted to have a movie night with Nevan and watch the chick flicks Dante would not permit to be played when he might overhear. So he picked Alastor, and the movie nights became a regular event.

She took the Sparda. It was rather awkward under a pillow, however. Perhaps that was why she always woke up wrapped around it in the mornings. The first few times she fell asleep, she remembered her death, or worse, Mundus' 'training,' but reaching out and touching the sword soothed her.

It was alive, she was certain sometimes. It was warm, skin-warm, under her hand, and twitched with a slow rhythm, like a heartbeat, and it smelled faintly of blood and something she identified after a shopping trip where she'd smelled essential oils, frankincense, and something else she couldn't quite identify. She'd had a perfume made that trip, and Dante had raised his eyebrows when he smelled it, but said nothing, just smiled and changed the subject with a laugh when she asked what was up.

Dante talked to his weapons, so she never thought it was odd how she'd quietly tell it everything that happened whenever she couldn't take it with her. But she did find herself sometimes pausing, and feeling irritated when there was no response, until she turned and saw the sword leaning against the back of her chair, standing mute. She didn't know why she felt so sad then, but the feeling vanished as soon as she touched it.

She was often found herself underestimating her abilities, forgetting about her lightening powers in the heat of battle. Yet she fought as flamboyantly as Dante, or perhaps even more so. Lux and Umbra were faithful, Ifrit made things go boom, yet she used the sword the most. It was the most powerful, of course, and it moved so gracefully in her hands that one of the civilians they'd had to calm down had said while he was babbling in relief that it looked like she was dancing with it.

That was exactly how it felt.

The sword oozed acid when it struck a foe, yet if she paused when wounded and leaned on it, that changed to a soothing balm.

She didn't have to wear the outfit Mundus had put her in anymore, and Nevan was sort of uncomfortable around it, yet she continued to wear it. It was easy to move in, and it wasn't like she needed armor. And she looked damn good in it. It was fun to tease men in the knowledge that they wanted her and they certainly didn't measure up. She fooled with her hair sometimes, but she looked her best with it down.

She'd come home one afternoon to find Tony Redgrave and his Woman Friday Aisha, aka I saw nobody, the people who had taken Dante in after… Tony had shown him how to build Ebony and Ivory, as his grandfather, also a Tony, had taught Sparda to craft Lux and Umbra. She'd wondered at the dedications on the guns. They'd stared at her for a second, even thought Dante had obviously told them about her and the resemblance. But a lot of times they'd stared at her over the littlest things.

Oh, sure, knocking someone upside the head with a broadsword while yelling something she couldn't quite remember at them for forgetting to serve guests alcohol was a big thing for a human, but for Dante that was a tap on the shoulder. Goddamn kid and his pain tolerance… cheeky brat, she'd complained in explanation.

Tony had replied that it wasn't that, he'd raised Dante to adulthood at the cost of many bullets needed to make an opening for a new idea in that thick skull, it was just that… and then Aisha had shushed him.

Dante had walked them out to the car, and they'd spent a long time talking. But that had given her time to notice that she'd made a mistake. The table setting was in rotation, she only had Wednesdays, so perhaps that was why she always found herself setting an extra place with a full meal next to Dante, and giving that place and Dante's a glass of milk instead of his German beer. The others just ate specific foods they liked, but she'd insisted Dante eat carrots and things even though his Devil metabolism could subsist on pizza.

She really liked champagne. She'd take a glass after the meal and put on the heavy black velvet cloak she wore then even though she didn't feel the cold, and rest the Sparda on top of it: it stayed attached to her back as Alastor did Dante's, and stand on top of one of the warehouses and sip the champagne and stare at the lights until it was her turn to answer the phone or they left on a mission.

Dante only needed a couple hours of sleep, four after particularly tough jobs or on movie mornings, yet sometimes she found herself sleeping right through a day and even sometimes being so deeply asleep she missed a mission! The first time it happened she was amazed when she looked at the news and saw it was Tuesday already. She didn't feel sick, if she could even get sick. She'd been worried she'd been cursed or poisoned, but Dante told her not to worry. And she'd felt so happy that day, it couldn't have been anything bad.

Though she did wonder why Dante had used the soundproofing spell on her room like the one he put on his when he'd gotten into a 'fight' with Alastor one time in his room and Ebony had to go bang on the door and tell them to keep it down, they could barely hear the movie! They'd had to switch movies, giggling made it hard to appreciate Kurosawa. They'd switched to Buffy. Ah, if only it was that easy! Girl wouldn't last five seconds in a fight with real demons. One hit kill indeed.

She thought maybe she dreamed those times. After she woke up, she'd seem to recall… but it slipped away, and she wished she'd dream again.

She fell asleep. And they woke up.

Ah, the little perks of marrying someone who was a telepath, among other things. Because, damn it, even on the mental plane, even if this was just a shared dream, he tasted too sinful, his tongue danced too well with hers to break this kiss.

Her hands clasped in his silky hair and his gently held her face as he grew black velvety wings, so different from the scaly, sharp ones of his usual Devil form, to wrap around her and clasp her to him.

And goddamn, why did she ever have to wake up? Her soul remembered this bliss, but the body only had vague glimpses… Oh yes. Her other idiot kid. She'd failed with both of them, failed to keep them safe, she wasn't going to fail again…

And he kissed away her tears, and murmured in her heart that it wasn't her fault, it was his. His for being lured into that trap, for failing to come home to her as he'd promised, for dying when he had so much to live for, for abandoning their children and her to the tender mercies of his enemies. For making her a target of every devil-worshipper and hater.

And her tears turned slowly to laughter and she opened her eyes and looked at his perfect face, his glorious eyes, the eyes she'd abandoned everything she'd ever been taught for, the eyes she lived and died and lived again for.

And it was so wrong and yet so very, very right. They never should have met, except across a battlefield. She should have kept shooting, he should have struck back. She'd had to wait and wait for him, wanting desperately to brave hell itself, face certain death for even the slimmest chance of rescuing him, die and probably even then never find him, for devils didn't have immortal souls, and yet she'd had to live for him.

To live for their children. The last legacy of him in this world. And she'd had to lie dying, Dante crying over her, Virgil shell-shocked, and know she had failed. And use her final strength to slit her throat, so she would technically die by her own hand, because she would not give them those bastards the honor of her death. And because a willing sacrifice was the most powerful magic in existence.

She would protect them. She would find him. There was no doubt in her mind. Because this was true love.

Even if she drifted, a lost soul, even if she had to sacrifice her humanity and become a demon. It was worth it, a thousand, thousand times. Because the ancient philosophers were right. Everything in the universe has a proper place, which it will eventually arrive at. Inevitably. However long it takes.

And hers was here. With him. In battle or balcony or bed. Though they stand in a hurricane (he'd taken her flying in one once), here in his arms she was at rest. At peace. Home.

An unmovable object is an unstoppable force. And even without memory, she stood by his side and him by hers.

And now they were together again… with Dante's help, they could certainly rescue Virgil, as soon as they got strong enough to stay awake except in dreams…

He could never resist her when she smirked.

Oh, yes. Plotting later. Attempting to overload Dante's soundproofing spell now. Being chaste for over a quarter century, even if most of it was spent dead, sucked. This gave her an idea…

"You look in."

"No, you! I got blasted through the hall wall the last time I checked on her! They're your parents, you see if she's awake!" Alastor yelled.

"Someone is forgetting who the Master is here. And she sleeps naked!" Dante shivered.

"So?" Alastor asked.

Dante sighed. "My eyes… if it weren't for my mad healing skills, I'd say my retinas were still scarred! A man should not see his mom like that." He shivered.

"Well, what do we do then? She's supposed to come with us to that due Mary place." Alastor asked.

"Well, the prophecy only mentioned me, so actually this might be a good thing, as there's no other way I can see to keep her home with an Apocalypse afoot." Dante hedged.

"We're leaving her? No trying to wake her up? No getting knocked out for a week? A solo trip? A 'tropical island paradise?' Excellent." Alastor perked up.

Dante raised an eyebrow. "Someone's been watching too much Simpsons. The finger thing is creepier than all hell."

"Sorry." Alastor blushed.

Dante sighed. "I'm sorry."

Alastor cocked his head. "What about?"

"I can't leave her here alone, I don't know how long I'll be gone for. I'm going to need all of you guys to stay and keep an eye on her."

"What!" Alastor yelled. "Wait, what about the blasting! She'll be fine with just the others!"

"Alastor, I'm sorry, but… I can't lose her again." Dante actually looked serious for once. "I'll just take Ebony and Ivory and Rebellion, I've grown too soft relying on you guys and your powers anyways." He joked to make up for the lapse in his act.

Alastor gave up on the puppy dog eyes after a while. "Alright, but come home quick, okay? And bring lots of souvenirs!"

"Idiot." Dante thumped him. "Of course I'll get home. We Spardas always do, it seems."

Alastor raised an eyebrow. "If you take that long, I'm going to blast the shit out of you when you get back. Idiot."

Dante laughed. "Deal."

- - - - - -

Well?


End file.
